Nanny Mihi lives by herself in a small wooden house in the wop-wops. From her veranda she can see past the big kahikatea tree on her front lawn and over the gravel road to the marae.
She can also see her moko Teina standing behind her rickety wooden fence. He looks sad. She can see hūpē swiped across his cheek and where the cuffs of his shirt are wet from trying to dry his eyes.
‘Nan, why do I have to stand here? Why can’t I come inside? Why can’t you give me an awhi?’ he asks, his eyes wide and tearful.
Nanny Mihi looks fondly at her mokopuna.
‘Because we are in e noho tatapū,’ she answers.
‘What’s that?’ Teina cries out.
‘E noho tatapū was the time our ancestors, the children of Ranginui and Papatūānuku, lived between the loving embrace of their parents.’
‘Were Rangi and Papa giving their children an awhi?’ Teina asks.
‘Āe, e Moko. But in this awhi there were many, many children . . . like seventy of them.’
Teina’s eyes grow wide.
‘That’s heaps of kids,’ he says.
Nanny Mihi continues. ‘And they were very cramped in the darkness. Some of the brothers were happy to be in e noho tatapū. It was warm and safe. It was all that they knew. But they weren’t allowed to go anywhere else. They had to stay in the embrace.’
Teina’s eyes light up.
‘Like how we have to stay home. And stay in our bubbles?’ He giggles. ‘Like an awhi bubble?’
‘Āe, e Moko, an awhi bubble.’
‘Aww, Nan, that sounds nice. Like when me and Te Rina and the cousins come and stay with you and we sleep marae-style in the lounge, and we eat lots of popcorn, and we watch TV, and you give us lots and lots of awhi, and it’s raining outside and you have the heater on.’
Teina catches his breath, and his voice softens. ‘Nan, I want to come and be with you. I want to be in your awhi bubble.’
‘Not yet, Moko. Not until e noho tatapū has ended.’
He holds his arms out to his Nanny Mihi. ‘AWHIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!’
Nanny Mihi acknowledges the karanga of her moko. She can hear his tangi and see his tears. She can feel his mamae. This pain is new. It is something she has never experienced before. She takes a long, deep breath, then exhales.
‘You mean to tell me that you can’t feel all of the awhi you are getting right now, Teina? Right in this very moment?’
Teina stamps his foot. ‘I don’t want a stupid pretend hug, Nanny. I am sick of getting awhi that aren’t even real! I want a real awhi.’
Teina stamps his foot and scowls. ‘Kāo! I want awhi now!’
‘Oh Moko, I’m talking about all of the magical and wondrous awhi you and I are receiving right now from all around us. From the atua and our tūpuna.’
Teina looks up through his tears.
Nanny Mihi continues quickly. ‘The awhi from the earth and the sun. From the stars and the moon.’
Teina reaches up to wipe his eyes and his shirt lifts up to show his pito. Nanny Mihi smiles. She is reminded of his birth and remembers giving birth to his mother. ‘But what else, Nan?’
‘The awhi from Tāwhirimātea and Tānemahuta. But, Moko, you must be open. You must see with your eyes. Feel with your heart. And listen with your soul, your wairua.’
‘How do I do that?’
Nanny Mihi sits down on the front steps of the veranda.
‘We have some work to do before you can become the Awhi Warrior, the receiver AND giver of awhi. I will teach you how.’
Teina nods his head seriously. He is ready for this.
‘OK, Moko. You can come just inside the gate but not any closer. And then I want you to take your shoes and socks off.’
Teina pushes open the gate and walks up the path. Nanny Mihi puts her hand out for him to stop. Teina sighs but does as he is told. He takes off his shoes and socks and stares at her.
‘Go sit on the grass, Moko.’
Teina sits and stares expectantly at his Nanny Mihi.
‘Shhh, Moko, be very quiet,’ she whispers.
‘Now, what can you feel, Moko?’
‘Nothing, Nan. My feet are cold.’
‘Can you hear the heartbeat of Papatūānuku?’
Teina squeezes his eyes shut. He is thinking hard. He tries to get his ear as close to the ground as possible.
‘Her heartbeat is beneath you. Lie face down on the grass.’ As Teina lies down, the blades of grass tickle his nose.
‘Papatūānuku is living and breathing. With each beat of her heart she nurtures you. Feeds you. Holds you. This moment, right here, right now, is her love for you. She holds you with every step you take. She will always awhi you. Our pito connect us all to her. For she is home.’ Suddenly, Teina feels her body and heart beating beneath him. As he sinks into the ground, he is embraced softly by her.
‘Āe, mā Papatūānuku koe e awhi, e aroha atu hoki. Ko ia tō ūkaipō. May Papatūānuku hug you and love you. She is your home,’ says Nanny Mihi.
‘Tēnā koe Papatūānuku,’ Teina whispers.
